Niccolo Rising - Dorothy Dunnett [295]
He said, “Well, Claes vander Poele, killer of men. Pray be seated. I am sorry, of course, to have brought you here in the name of my daughter-in-law, but I felt it wise, and so did she. Who knows what assassins you mightn’t have brought with you otherwise? Or what ingenious way you might have found to capture me? I am, as you might think, an embarrassing and therefore very discreet guest of Burgundy, and have no desire, just yet, to find myself back in France.”
Nicholas sat. He said, “You escaped, then.”
The small mouth smiled. “From Brittany, with the help of my daughter-in-law. That is, she had not yet married Simon, but she saw, I am sure, the advantages of keeping the French land in the family. I may be exiled now, but I am still alive. And when the Dauphin becomes king, Ribérac will, of course, be restored to me. An argument which outweighed, as it turned out, even the lady Katelina’s unreasonable distaste for my company. Simon, of course, doesn’t know how she helped me in Brittany. He would be most displeased with her if he did. His greeting this afternoon when I appeared alive before him was not filial.”
“He isn’t interested in Ribérac?” Nicholas said. He kept his voice as calm as the other’s, and sat perfectly still.
“He is more interested in Kilmirren. It has been, naturally, a great blow to him to discover that he has neither the land nor the title, and indeed is about to lose all the freedom he enjoyed under poor Alan in Scotland. I have to thank you, by the way, for disposing so ably of Alan,” said the fat man. “As an older brother, he was always a great inconvenience to me, and should have been got rid of years ago.”
Nicholas said, “It had nothing to do with me.”
“No, of course not,” said the fat man his grandfather. “What a large number of deaths you have had nothing to do with. Alan. Poor Esota de Fleury. The unfortunate M. Jaak. That sad young bumpkin Felix de Charetty. All your dear friends or relatives. As I heard it, even the famous Lionetto was happy to save your life with his sword, quite unaware that it was you who had ruined him. No wonder Simon fears for his life.”
“He needn’t,” said Nicholas.
“Oh, not directly, of course,” said de Ribérac. “I hear that you almost ran away from him at the Hôtel Gruuthuse this morning. Yet you invite his attention, don’t you? A little matter of stealing a whore of his. And a remark you made as you did it. Now she knows what it means, it has added a good deal, I’m afraid, to the violent antipathy in which the lady Katelina holds you.”
Now she knows what it means? Nicholas waited.
De Ribérac smiled. “You are really the most passive opponent I have ever met. I thank God there is no blood of mine in you to be ashamed of. Don’t you remember the comment you made? The conduct of an oaf and the talents of a girl and a mortification to your father. It cut deep at the time, poor Simon. After the dead weakling he got on your mother, he never found a girl he could quicken until Katelina. You know she is bearing? You are ousted, poor bastard.
“I’m glad,” continued Jordan de Ribérac. The surfaces of his face, reflecting back into each other, bespoke a vast and undisturbed serenity. “There was a time when I thought I should have to resort to her myself, but really, a man wearies of animal pastimes. I am glad Simon has achieved something at last.”
Nicholas said, “So you don’t want me to take care of him any more? I was looking forward to it.”
It was an arrow at venture, and it pierced the arrogant calm. Nicholas received a look so quick and so sharp that he felt it. De Ribérac said, “That is why you are here, M. l’assassin. To warn you to attempt nothing against me, or against Simon. Especially against Simon.”
“In case I marry Katelina?” said